I'll Try a Little Silence (in honor of wordless wednesday)

Clementine army

2011, 2012, 200....Wait I'll be Right Back.........

This week I have had the distinct pleasure of fielding questions about the end of days! This is nothing new for my apocolyptic minded clan who had major meltdowns during 1997 and Y2K fretting over how much dehydrated food and bottled water we would need to hide in our walk in closet  for three years. But the level of worry exhibited by my very easy going free spirited kids had me concerned. It started after a trip to the movies that was preceeded by the usually very enjoyable and age appropriate teaser trailers. Somehow, someone decided to give the kiddies a sneak peak of the end of days type scenario that would be unfolding soon as depicted in the new disaster flick "2012".  Nightmare. As soon as the car started rolling away from the theatre the inquiries started. "How much time to we have left to prepare?" "What is the Mayan calender and why does it stop at 2012?" "Why do I have to die at twelve years old?" Hmmmmmm.
The Mayan Calender and the so called Mayan prophecy concerning 2012 was something I was previously a bit fuzzy on, like a nagging warning from your mother that you are vaguely aware of looming out there somewhere in the mist. Apparently, it is a prophetic calender that according to it's followers helps you understand the past and forsee the future. Cue creepy music and scary ghosts.
You know, I'm about sick to death of people giving me the low down on when it's time to perish. I've been down this road before in various stages of distress. The History Channel gives me my daily dose (usually during the new year, when it's time to start your terror fresh) serving up a slew of end of the world type programming like "Seven Signs of the Apocolypse" (It's here people, we are on like #5 or something) "Nostrodomos Prophet" and a special on Edgar Cayce- a man who would apparently go to sleep and become a brilliant medical diagnostician despite only and 8th grade education. Just like everyone else, I sat riveted on the edge of my sofa, frozen with terror. Every show in the 8-12 time slot had the same conclusion. 2012 is the end folks. The poles are reversing and solar winds will be battering us until we are a whithered shell of a planet. Oh and by the way, thousands of unaccounted for asteroids are hurtling toward us while we sit defenseless. There will be famine, plague (natural or man made take your pick) mass extinctions, etc. OY.
It's terribly difficult to remain an optimist in the face of such unsettling information. What is one to do in case of one or all of these catastrophies? I mean, I'm a Girl Scout leader and I take the "be prepared" motto to heart, but my emergency kit doesn't have salve strong enough to soothe the scorching skin burn from a fiery asteroid entering the atmosphere nor does it have food enough to feed a family of five when we are living the exsistence of "the boy" and "the man" in Cormack McCarthy's The Road.
The last act of the late great planet earth haunts me but I choose to believe that we are not destined to have such a feeble run. Mankind is not easily extinguished and I like to think we have a cockroach style approach of remaining attached to our home planet.
In conclusion I decided to make up a complete falsehood to comfort my frightened kids. In my story the delightful Mayan calender maker was busy writing down all the special dates and times that would be essential in the coming years when suddenly she found herself being constantly interrupted by life. Her kids needed to be fed, her dog had to be let outside, she had to cook the beast her husband had dragged home after bludgeoning it to death, there were rugs and baskets to be woven and pottery to create. It happens, some things never get finished.

The First of the Lasts

Here in our house we are normally so overwhelmed with a packed schedule (friends, sports, parties, etc.) that we sometimes don't stop to notice what could turn out to be a momentous occasion. This is one such occurrence. Today I watched in tears as my last child, my baby, walked into his classroom on the first day of his last year of preschool. All of my kids have spent their formative early childhood years at the same  center and each has loved it with all their heart. There will be no more first days at a place that has loved and accepted each of them as they are, warts and all. No more hugs and kisses from beloved mentors who take them under their wing and treat them as if they are their own flesh and blood. No more rolling down the hall in the Little Tikes police car equipped with wailing sirens and walkie talkies to arrest offenders while decked out in full police regalia. No more special walks when they slip up and utter a profanity that they heard Mommy use in the car when that very bad driver cut in front of her.
So, I'm going to get my tissue now and suck it up while remaining thankful that I took a moment this morning to notice the first of what I am sure will be many heartbreaking lasts. I have a whole year to enjoy and dammit I'm going to milk it for all it's worth.

Say Ahhhhh.....

Yesterday we took our annual trip up to Millersville to get the obligatory nine and ten year old check-ups for the older kids. We saw our usually warm and wonderful pediatrician and I felt particularly at ease since these trips are usually stress free (no one is ill and no big tests need to take place). I noticed something immediately  askew. Normally, you get a toothy grin and a hearty pat on the back from Doctor Wonderful  as the exams get underway, I mean I chose this guy for his demeanor and great bedside manor. This time he seemed all business, grim even. I scratched my head momentarily, but figured it must have been a rough day for him considering all the kids in the waiting room who had parents as lazy as me. We did wait until the second day of school to take care of the check up for goodness sake.
Here is how the conversation went after both kids had been examined and were buttoning up.

Doctor Wonderful: Have you discussed sex with them yet?

Me: Umm, well bits and pieces really.... uh just a little.

Doctor Wonderful: Suck it up (yes this did come out of his mouth) if they don't hear it from you they will hear it from their friends and on the internet. That is NOT the kind of misinformation they need to be filled with. Have the talk.

Me: Uh, o.k.

Doctor Wonderful: Are any of their peers smoking or drinking yet?

Me: GOD NO! They are still in kneesocks...I mean they still play four square and hopscotch on the playground!

Doctor Wonderful: Good. You need to tell them in no uncertain terms that smokers make bad friends. These are risk takers and we don't want that kind of influence.

Unaccustomed to this kind of abrupt questioning I was caught a bit off guard, but I wasn't shaken up enough not to notice that my kids eyes lit up when he mentioned smokers like they were lepers. I spun and gave both the stink eye immediately to stop them from revealilng what they were about to.  You see...my husband is a smoker and I did NOT want to hear that lecture at the end of a long day.

Me: (backing away grabbing ahold of both kids) O.K. then, we've got to get going! Thanks! Do I have a co-pay?

Kids: But Mommy, Daddy's a.........

Me: Right, Daddy will be home early today. Here eat these lollipops.

On the ride home everyone looked sullen. Gavan, my middle son thought for a while and then asked "So we can't be friends with Daddy?" I explained that the doctor was talking about other kids and that Daddy would keep trying to quit so that he could be healthy. Having narrowly escaped having to bumble my way through an excuse for the poor health habits of my spouse was enough of a victory for one day.

This Sign Says it All.

Forty Eight Hours of Annoyed

Last week, exhausted after a frustrating day and sad about the end of summer I sent my poor husband the following email.


Annoying things that have happened to me in the last 48 hours.

Unsecured metal shower curtain fell on my head while shampooing.

Dog's unwiped butt spread poop all over my newly laundered bed spread (two nights in a row)

I still have no sink in my bathroom.

Two trips to the Giant foiled when all baskets were spoken for so I took only what I could carry, which was enough to feed one of our three children for one meal. Oh and also there was no parking so I had to walk three blocks with my purchases.

My basement has been completely over run by aggressive and entitled cockroaches. All sleepover activity has been suspended since "cockroach gate" when one infiltrated the tent my daughter and her friend were sleeping in.

I spotted two rats looking like they were planning a coup in my backyard.

Speaking of the backyard, the unchecked growth of weeds and other undetermined plant life now rivals the pictures I see of the Amazon Rain Forest.

The last few "free" things I tried to do with my kids ended up costing me hundreds of dollars (cab fare, parking, food, etc.)


The last two attempts to play ball out front on the sidewalk resulted in the ball rolling in the street and quickly down the slope of the alley to be lost forever.

The entire front facing wall of my bedroom is collapsing from water damage caused by a leaky roof.

My larger dog is suffering with some sort of vile ear infection.

I have picked up ripped garbage bags and their former contents no less than two times today. (Again, thank you dogs)

My kids are screaming and wrestling in my living room seemingly unable to hear my pleas for quiet and calm.

We are out of checks and the cleaning lady is giving me the evil eye as she sweeps my filth and waits for my lame excuse.

Renew,Restore, Replenish

I love the beach. We are home now, I am still unpacking and frankly it's making me want to run back to the minivan and head straight for the ocean again. Almost everyone suffers from a "woe as me complex" as they watch the sun, surf and sand fade in the distance of the rear view mirror, but this vacation was so good that I found myself getting melancholy and misty eyed two days prior to departure. All I could think of was how poorly my real life measured up to my beach existence. I tried to give myself a mental "snap out of it" slap, because who am I to complain really? "You don't have it so bad!" I chided myself. Then suddenly I heard my mothers voice.

"You know who has it bad? The loincloth clad guy sleeping in the brush in sub Saharan Africa with a bush baby perched on his head, waiting in terrifying darkness for the man eating lion pride that devoured his whole village to come and finish him off. Now THAT'S a guy who's earned the right to feel sorry for himself missy, not you".

True, but i still want to have my rear end planted firmly in a beach chair while I watch the waves roll in.